


Raiding

by SilverGopher



Category: Fallout - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverGopher/pseuds/SilverGopher
Summary: The rifle Arturo sells is a basic handmade rifle from nuke world, retrofitted for the commonwealths more prevalent and slightly more powerful ammunition.





	Raiding

**Author's Note:**

> The rifle Arturo sells is a basic handmade rifle from nuke world, retrofitted for the commonwealths more prevalent and slightly more powerful ammunition.

My fingers clenched the handle of my rifle, drawing a shuddering creak out of the old wood. The creak grounded me, kept me in the moment. If I wasn't focused I'd be floating, and that can't happen during an ambush. Thats how you die. So I clenched my fingers, and shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet. My legs were screaming at me, and had been for thirty minutes now. I hated ambush, but the boss loved them. I couldn't even check my rifle, make sure it's good to go, because the trader's out front. 

 

Theres a moment before the ambush snaps its maw where you can cut the tension with a knife, and it's the only part of the ambush I like. When the door opens, I swing up, lanky and sore. The rifle rests in my shoulder, sights wavering over the trader. I just want to pull the trigger. it's easier that way. But the boss got his hands on an old book recently, and it was talking about keeping a sustainable income or some shit like that. I didn't like it, but I liked having all my fingers so I yelled out, "Drop your weapon, and hand over your caps! You can keep your cargo!" Then shit went tits-up the same way it had the last seven times we tried this. she went for the rusty revolver at her hip, and I reacted. Never was good at telling the intent behind movements. the trigger was slow and it felt like molasses when I jerked it. There was a bright flare of red, up high on her chest and recoil pummeled a bruise into my shoulder.

 

Every thing went to hell. Everything was too slow when I could see it, but the moment I couldn't see it no more it sped way the hell up. it was calamity and the only thing that made sense was the rusty pinprick of my sight. Slowly, too slowly, but fast enough I put it on a man in leather. It hurt, but not as much as the slug buried in his gut did. Gut shots are a bitch and a half, and I felt somewhat sorry for it. Theres gunfire all around me now, and my bloods thumping in my ears. I'm looking for another one, but theres no one, and then things slow. It takes a while for things to start making sense again, but it'll always does. Never fast enough, which is why I'm fumbling for the jet in my coat pocket, drawing the bhramin shit and fucking magic into my lungs. It settles there, burning, burning so sweet. It's won't work till I breathe out, I know that. but I don't want to. Not yet.

 

I breathe out, and everything goes muddy and soft. There a trader on the floor of the old store, and for some reason its so funny that I can't help but laugh my ass off. The. boss says I have a fucking awful laugh,  something about a hyena. choking on broken glass, but I don't know what the hell a hyena is, and the boss ain't telling. She doesn't like when I laugh, causes headaches she says. I try to stop laughing, but there a weight. it should hurt but jet makes everything muddy. there liquid in my mouth, coppery, bitter and I love it. I try to swallow it but I gag there something in my throat! I clench and someones crushing me, I swing, but I weak I can't breath and I'm being crushed. 

 

they drop me and a tooth tumbles from my open mouth in a trickle of sweet coppery blood. The boss is mad, she yelling and gesturing with her knife. it's a big knife, more like a small sword with a heavy blade. She calls it David and laughs. I don't get the joke. It takes a while but sound comes back, and she's pissed.

"I don't want to cut ya, Jek. I really don't, but if this keeps up I'm gonna have ta." I don't like that, and I don't like her. Not anymore, I needed that tooth. I snarl, coughing on blood going dry and crusty, "I'll take my share, and I'm bouncing. I'll find a new crew." Red looked at me with something like pity in her eyes. I didn't like that. I was a good raider, one of the best. I was a member of the jury damn it. No, not anymore the judge was dead. 111 killed him, and his little concrete kingdom died. We were so close to ruling Boston. it still hurt deep in my chest. I didn't need her pity, so I turned to leave when she called out again, angry, commanding, Red, "Leave the rifle, it belongs to us." I didn't want to give up my rifle, it was all I had left from the Jury, it was mine. but there were guns on me, more than I could take. wasn't wearing armor or I might have risked it.

 

I squeezed the rifle, and then I opened my hands. it hit the floor with a clatter, and then I was running. It felt wrong to not have my rifle, like something was missing. my rifle was gone and all I had was an old pig sticker in my boot. If I made it to diamond city I could buy a gun, but that was three miles away, through downtown. Couldn't go to good neighbor, we'd hit one of the Mayors caravans and a survivor told him about us. too risky. 

 

I would have to be quiet, and dark, and snake. it took long time, and I huddled in fear evrytime I gun went off, or a truck went "meep-meep", still don't know how they got vehicles working again, but now everysettlment had one. made our jobs harder, now farmers could just run away with their produce. it took very long time, but they let me in the walls. One of the guards followed me, in the old baseball gear. It was made for catching balls, not bullets and they were easy enough to kill. If you had a rifle. Which I din't, so I walked while I was watched. Arturo hadn't changed,  still peddled weapons to whoever was buying. "Ah, you like? New kit, up from Nuka-World. Thrity round banana mag, .308  ammunition, which is just all over the place. And these are some of the most durable pieces iv'e every had. Put twelve thousand rounds through this one to test the batch, not a single jam. four hundred caps, and you get one of these and four mags." It was a good looking gun, but he didn't give me his with the fancy grating and the folding stock. Mine had a crudely welded barred and a shovel handle for a stock. I liked it though, felt nice bouncing against my back.  no money left though, so I slept under the overhanging sign of a store. I left before morning, didn't need the guards on my ass.


End file.
